Nightmares and Daydreams
by Lover's Lost Afterlife
Summary: Arthur Kirkland lives a peaceful, quaint life during the day... But when the sun sets, all hell breaks loose. Arthur must help his friends fight a gang of bigots, lead by a mysterious man that attacked him in high-school. Can he do it without risking his life and the life of his friends? ((Temporarily discontinued. Sorry.))
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE  
((A/N: The title may or may not change. :P Sorry. Anyways, enjoy!))  
I walk alone in Yohashi Park. I often come to a park to take pictures for my popular blogs on Flicker. I draw or paint sometimes, but it's photography that interests me the most. It has a certain. . . emotion to it, I guess. And because it's less time consuming, so I get more pictures in a day. It's Sunday, so not a horde of people come to the park to visit, due to going to church or simply resting before the work week begins. So that became the most peaceful day of the week for me.  
Yohashi Park, created by Kiku Honda, is a Japanese inspired garden that surrounds a vast pond. The Cherry Trees are in full blossom, shading over a small bridge that looks over the sun-kissed water. I take a few shots at this spot, hoping it will bring some small amount of inspiration to someone's day.  
I sit down on a bench, taking the scenery into a bit more depth. Something about this nature makes me feel alive. The wind that brushes against my skin feel warm and majestic, and the smell of the blossoms gives a sense of being far away from this small town.  
This how my life should be. I shouldn't spend on the constant worries of petty things, such as the approval of others. I should spent content with the world, wherever I may be. Peaceful, quiet bohemian town.  
I almost thought that's what this town was when I arrived. Almost.  
And then, the screams came. The awful screams that convinced me for certain that I was putting myself in hell for the peaceful daylight. The first night I was here, I tried my damnedest to block out the bloody howling of wild college students and rebellious teenagers. It wasn't until the third night I actually got some rest, and I had to actually find a bloody pair of ear-plugs and wear them to bed.  
But that was six years ago, when I was finishing up high-school in America.  
It got better over time. It certainly didn't get any quieter, but somewhere along the line, I stopped caring or either became more deaf.  
Francis Bonnefoy has helped a lot too.  
He came into my life in the worst way. I remember it as if it just happened. I remember the way he frantically knocked on my door. I remember swearing because it was only a few minutes after midnight. I remember the very way my stomach churned when I saw what they did to him. And then, I saw his eyes. And my heart sunk.  
I check the time. "Damn," I speak out loud. 4:36 PM. I stood, stretching, making a slight groan. If I stayed out for too much longer, I was putting myself in danger of the gate closing before I got the chance to get out. While I doubted they would be ignorant to do that, I still felt the reason to worry. I quickly grabbed my camera and head toward the exit. I walked, trying to think forward to the gate.  
But something caught my eye, a beautiful picture of the sun setting perfectly near a sculpture of clouds, looking over the lake as if it were a guardian of light. It was perfect. I couldn't miss it. I just couldn't.  
I turned on the camera, and placed it precisely to get the scenery. I snapped the picture quick. I swiftly turned and jogged to the sidewalk outside the gate. Just in time. The gate closed behind right as I got out. And I was going to be able to go home.  
It's only a forty-minute walk from Yohasi to the house, so there was really no need to bother for a taxi. Why waste money when you have the working legs the world gave you to run and discover the world? I walked prideful steps, knowing exactly what I was doing and where to go.  
That was before I realized how the sun was literally about to set on my little paradise of tranquility.  
My steps are hollow on the empty streets. It's a quiet little town for quiet little folk in the day. But, as the sun's ever-looming light fades, the night-walkers form from the shadows. People of all worst kinds if you're one of the quiet day-lurkers. It was amazing this town wasn't on the list for most dangerous places in America. The sun teasingly seems to sink a little faster to make my heart race. I walk faster. I must get home. And then, the howls of the night begin.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

((A/N: Sorry if the format keeps changing! I'm still fairly new to this website so.. yeah! Enjoy! And sorry if this is a REALLY short chapter!))

First, it began with the signature of the strident howls, piercing sounds attacking and diminishing your senses. Then, born from the shadows of the night and moon, their barbarian figures lurk around you, exposing themselves in unbecoming ways. I look forward to the path ahead of me. I can't run. Not unless I want a death wish. When you run, they know you're afraid, and they'll take that weakness to an advantage. I must stay calm.  
Now the sirens begin. They wisp around me, exposing their bodies in provocative gestures. Anything and everything that didn't fit properly, whether it be too loose or too tight or too short, was pronounced their clothing. The clacking noises from their shoes, if they had any on at all, was a decent warning that they were approaching. And they are relentless if they think they can sexually tease someone. I seem to be a good target in their eyes. Sometimes they'll wink flirtatiously or blow a kiss at me. Once one of them was vulgar enough to kiss me and grind against me as they left. Sadly, the only thing you can do is ignore them and let them do their business, or their partners or pimps will be sure to handle you into a pulp. I never understood what the point was of being in a relationship when you know your partner cheats, much less cheats right in front of you.  
But that is the way of these damn college kids. They don't understand anything that isn't making noise or being peaceful for two seconds. In reality, it's sad. It's as if they are afraid of growing into something much more potential, into the real world. But if they want to live afraid, I don't give a damn until they make my life more miserable than it already.

. . .

It begins to get biting cold. I cling myself to try to stay warm. I merely sigh and a opening of a door makes me jump and yelp, as if it actually hurt me. But I continue walking.  
Then I begin to hear footsteps.  
Yes. Very close footsteps.  
I must be imagining things. No one could be following me. Why would they want to follow me? But I didn't turn around. If they saw my face, they would just how afraid I am. But if it came to those terms, I did always carry a knife on me for self defense. I wouldn't let myself go down without the fight to continue living.  
A shiver tingles down my spine. My skins burns with a cold sweat. Goosebumps cover my skin. My heart feels too loud. As ridiculous as it sounds, I begin to wonder if they could hear my frightened heart beating.  
I feel my temple pound with a mix of fear and irritation, as cold continuously prickles my skin.  
I can't run, but I speed up my pace. I can't show I'm afraid, just that I'm in a hurry. "God, please don't tell me it's one of those damned desperate ladies looking for someone to have sex with for the night... or worse." I think.  
I hear the foot steps near on my heels. They're close. Very close. They know I'm afraid, and they are going to chase me until they capture me or have had enough of their game.  
But I will not go down without a fight. I will fight until the very damn end if I have to. I reach behind me and feel for the knife, which is secure in my back pocket.  
I turn a hard right, hoping I could disappear into the crowd or shadows. For a few seconds, my heart stops at the anticipation of hope. But I still hear their steps. And they are still chasing me.  
They are getting closer. Instead of running, I lengthen my stride. I still can't run. My weakness would still be too obvious.  
Dammit, they are still close enough for me to hear their heavy breathing. I make another hard turn. I get to a point where the crowds start thinning out and try to make a break for it. Fuck, he's running too! For the next few minutes, I don't think. I don't hear anything. Just running out of blank fear. And almost I felt a voice, a very rough voice, scream from my throat and my lungs tightening.  
A hand touches my shoulder, another covers my mouth, and it pulls me into an alley. I can't think except how to escape. I wasn't about to give up running. I want to scream, but panic blocks my airways. He hushes me, like I could scream anyway. But I did want to run. I instinctively did the only thing I could think to do: I bit down on his hand hard as I could. With a yelp of pain, the hand jerks away from my mouth and off my shoulder, and I whip around, pulling out a knife from my back pocket.  
I couldn't tell how irritated and relieved I was to see that damn frog.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

((A/N: I felt very dizzy during this chapter~ And translation: connards means asshole in French!))

"Dammit, Francis!" I yell, "You scared the bloody fool out of me!" And he did. I didn't know what I was expecting, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting him. Stupid, wonderful, crazy Francis.  
He shook his hurt hand and put out his bottom lip as if to pout, either because it still stung or he was trying to seem cute, even in a situation like this. "Well, what was I supposed to do, Arthur?" he sneered hurtfully, "Let one of those damned _connards_ grab you and run off with you, never to see you again?!" I sighed. He had a point but he didn't have to act the way he did. Hell, for all I could've known, he could've been a rapist or serial killer! "Anyway, lets go home," Francis sighed, "God knows what will happen if someone finds us." I crossed my arms in frustration and followed that frog. Stupid, awful, amazing, crazy, wonderful Francis saved me from what could've been nothing at all to something much worse than what lives in my nightmares.

Francis leads me back to my apartment, considering it's only a door away from his. As we stop at my door, I look at him for a split moment in his hurt eyes and I suddenly feel a little guilty for being so rude earlier. It was thoughtful of him to come out looking for me at his own expense. "Thank you," I say a bit more rudely than I intended, "And, uh, sorry I bit your hand. Do you want to come inside for some tea?"  
Francis smiles gently and nods. He understands. I unlock the door with my key kept in my pocket. I walk in, Francis following behind me. I wait for him to get in and take a seat before I close the door and lock it. Never can be too careful. "Hot or Iced?" I ask.  
"Hot, please," Francis smiles. I look at his smile for moment, and it takes me a moment to realize the heat on my cheeks is me blushing. I turn my face, and return to making the hot tea. His smile, the smile nobody could've guessed he's ever been done wrong, almost never left his face when he was with his friends. "Damn, that was embarrassing," I mumble to myself, "I hope he didn't notice."  
It's hard to explain what me and Francis have. We range anywhere from petty enemies to husband and wife. For the sake of my pride, Francis is the wife. Wait, what the bloody hell was I thinking about him like that?! I return to the brewing tea.  
Suddenly, I hear my camera turn on. I turn and see Francis messing with it, looking through my photos again. I feel irritation grow back on the temple of my forehead. He _knows_ I don't like it when someone is looking at my photos before I evaluate them. In fact, nothing irritates me more than a nosy person delving into my business.  
I walk over to him, about to ask him not to do that, but before I can even get the words out, he turns the camera to me, showing me a picture, and says, "I really like this one."  
I stood there, confused by his sudden statement, so I looked at the picture. It was the last picture I took before I left. But something- or rather, someone- was in the picture. A young man. He looked to be in his teenage years. But it was his eyes. His eyes that shimmered like emeralds in the blinding sun. A lighter green tinted it. His hair was thick and wavy. He wore a dark purple coat. Tight jeans or black leggings, it was hard to tell. But those eyes. Those eyes were an almost as amazing as the scenery.  
"I think this is the first time I seen a picture of yours with a human in it," Francis chuckled, "Why this time? And why use Antonio?"  
Antonio? Antonio.. Aw, hell. The Spaniard that caused so much trouble for me in high-school, along with Gilbert and Francis. Well, not directly."I-I didn't intend to have him in the picture. I didn't even see him!"  
Francis raised an eyebrow at me. I was being honest, I didn't see Antonio. But he also knows how I take in the full picture too, but-  
"The tea is ready," Francis blurted out. I turned and brought out two tea cups and poured a little into each. I set one beside Francis before sitting across from him at the table. I sipped the hot tea silently, and so did he. I enjoyed his company. I really do. Sometimes we get mad, but we don't stay mad. Francis is... flamboyant. I keep to myself. He's kinder than he probably should be. I tend to be rude to strangers and friends. We're opposites. It's natural to fight. But we've miraculously found something more.  
I think of how Antonio was in the picture. I haven't even spoken to the kid since high-school. Or Gilbert for that matter. Antonio was the quiet, innocent one. Well, mostly innocent, counting all the times he helped them in their schemes. Gilbert had the biggest ego on a man I've ever seen and had the intelligence of that blasted American, whose ego was not far off. And Francis was.. well, they were all decently popular, but I think Francis got the most affection. He would always have girls AND guys hanging off him when he wasn't around his trio. It was amazing they noticed me.

It was a normal day the day the trio came into my life. But they've changed ever since that fateful day.  
I was going home. School had been okay, consisting of near constant schoolwork and talking to Kiku Honda and that bloody American, Alfred Jones. And after a long day, I was going home to my dark and quiet house.  
But then, I was jumped. To this day, I still have no idea why. All I knew is I felt a harsh hand pull hard on my shoulder and pull me into an alley. I didn't know how many of them there was, but I was guessing three or four. The one that grabbed me put a dirty hand that smelled of alcohol and cigarette. I remember very clearly that hazel eyes faced me when he grabbed my crotch, and rubbed hard. I remember begging him to stop through the other man's hand, only to have my throat squeezed. I remember the hazel eyes smirked and said, "This what you faggots like, right?"  
I remember my mouth being covered with a tied cloth and my wrists being bound by something similar before being punched in the gut and falling to my knees. I pleaded them to stop before a near purple eyed man slapped me, sending my head to the ground.  
The concrete was torture against my cheek. But next, a firm combat boot met my back, and I screamed. "Why?" I thought, "What did I do to you?" Hot tears streamed down my face as I lied there. All I could do was close my eyes and take in the pain.  
"STOP!" a very strong German accent roared over me. Voices incoherently spoke. But I heard yelling. And fighting. "You're going to kill him!" Ita- No, a Spanish accent spoke. The fighting continued. I felt some trip over my body, a combat boot landing on my hip, and quickly getting off.  
After a few minutes, I heard nothing. I surely thought I was dead. Until someone lifted me up, pain spiraling through my body like an avalanche. I tried to think simple. I tried to listen to what they were saying. "I think he's trying to wake up!" Loud. Slight German accent.  
"Shh! Do you want to give the man a headache more than what he probably already has?!" Soft-spoken. French. Understanding.  
"He must've done something awful for them to hurt him this bad." Quiet. Spanish. Caring.  
When I opened my eyes, the world blurred in and out. I looked towards whoever was holding me. Red eyes. Pale skin. White hair. Someone else removed whatever was binding my wrists and removed the cloth from my face. I looked toward their direction. Green eyes. Tan skin. Dark brown hair. And finally, someone tried to help me transition to my feet. Blue eyes. Fair skin. Blonde hair.  
And then I fell to my knees. I couldn't stand. It was too sickening to stand. I crawled away from them, giving up my dignity and hurled. I never felt so awful in my life. "Oh god.." I finally managed to say. I was shaking from bitter cold so bad I couldn't tell the warmth of the sun was shining against me.  
I felt a soft hand touch my arm. While it was a gentle touch, I still flinched. I looked to see it was the Frenchman crouching next to me, "Do you live far from here?" I nodded. I couldn't tell what he meant by far, but I didn't exactly have the energy to ask. "Do you have anyone we can notify to pick you up or let you stay the night with?" This time, I shook my head. I barely knew Kiku and I was damned if I was going stay the night at Alfred's house.  
"I guess the awesome thing to do is let you heal up at our place," the German said, "You took one hell of a beating back there."  
"Do you even know why they attacked you?" the soft-spoken Spaniard asked. I could barely hold my own weight up, how was suppose to talk? I waved a dismissive hand at him.  
Suddenly I felt arms lift me up from both sides. The world was spinning around me, movement was sickening, but all I could do was take it in until I got to a safer place.  
When we did get to their house, I must've been in the bathroom, vomiting my guts out, for hours. I couldn't stop shaking. The world couldn't stop spinning. It wasn't until I felt a blanket wrap around me my shaking slowed down. But my head, my god, my head couldn't stop pounding. A voice spoke, but it was almost to quiet to hear. "W-what?" I asked.  
"I think I know who attacked you," the quiet voice spoke, "They've attacked me too. Actually, they've attacked almost anyone who have been suspected as gay, the judgmental _connards_."  
So I wasn't alone. There was a reason they attacked me. And there was more than the reason of pity those three saved me. The thought comforted me in ways unimaginable. I began to feel a little less dizzy, so I turned to the / Blue eyes. Fair skin. Blonde. Soft-spoken. French accent.  
Francis Bonnefoy.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

((A/N: I am so so sorry this is such a short chapter but I promise I will post another chapter! And sorry the format keeps changing but I am trying my BEST to figure out this thing! But anyways.. enjoy lovelies~ X3))

"Hello, earth to Arthur!" A snapping of a finger made me come back to reality. My face felt slightly damp. "Arthur, are you crying?"

I looked up to Francis. His face was slammed with confusion and concern. He always did care about me. I smiled a little and wiped my face, "I'm fine, Francis."

He looked a bit more relaxed than before, but he was still so very tense. He sat back down in his chair and sighed, "God knows I worry about you,_ mi amore_."

I looked up to him, and said, "I know you do. And I do the same. We do this cause we love each other right?" I blushed when I realized what I said. Dammit, I hate feeling my cheek flush. I try to look away so he doesn't notice, but it's too late. "My, my, isn't this a sight to see! Arthur Kirkland blushing!"

Bloody Hell.

"I-I'm not you git!" Francis, instead of getting mad, gives me a perplexed look. He's not fighting? I sigh, and go to sit on the edge of the bed. Fuck. I almost hate it when he does that. Not because I want to fight, because I want to look at me like. . . I don't know, just something that doesn't make me feel like a complete idiot. I cross my arms and look away from the direction of where he's at.

Ugh, I hated being so goddamn confused about my feelings toward him! Why couldn't I just admit I loved him! I knew I did. But how was I suppose to tell him? How was I going to tell myself? After everything that's happened between me and love, how was I suppose to tell myself nothing would happen to him? How was suppose to know what happened with her wasn't going to happen to him? My frustration finally got the better of me, and I felt hot tears stream down my face.

I hear his footsteps. I know he's standing at the doorway, but I dare not to look at him. At his eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat, still letting the hot tears run down my face. I hear him step closer and feel him sit next to me. "_You are my sunshine_,_ my only sunshine_," He sang and wraps his arms around me, "_You make me happy when skies are grey_," I close my eyes and turn my face toward his direction. I feel another tear stream down my face before a gentle hand wipes it away. "_You'll never know_, _dear_, _how much I love you_," I open my eyes, and see Francis's radiant ocean blue eyes searching mine. I'm completely taken in awe. He's searching for that old flame he wants so bad, and so desperately deserves. And it wasn't until I realized this that I was doing the same. I don't really have to look hard to see he's held on to what we had when it came to passion. "_Please don't take my sunshine away_," and I saw how close we really were. I felt his lips slightly brush against mine before he pressed them against me.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

((Warning: SMALL OR UNDERAGE (Ages 5 to 12) CHILDREN PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE STAY AWAY FROM THIS CHAPTER. I DOUBT THAT YOU ARE A LITTLE ONE IF YOU ARE STILL READING THIS BUT I DO NOT WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR SCARRING YOUR INNOCENT CUTE MINDS. PLEASE SKIP THIS. PLEASE. Mature themes.))

The small kiss was quick. I felt my heart skip a beat when he pulled away. I ached for this for so long, but I've sealed it so well that not even I could unlock these feelings. Only he knew how to find a way to unseal them. "I'm sorry!" Francis shrieked, "I just couldn't help it! I've missed you so much. . . us, I mean. I just-" I stopped him by kissing him feverishly. With all the force of my love for him, storming through my body, lightening through my veins, I kissed him. For the first time in a while, I felt something more than companionship and I could actually feel the ache in my soul for more of it. I loved him.

I didn't know what gave me the confidence in this. In a way, I didn't want to know. Because the moment I did, I would second-guess it. I didn't want to let go of a precious moment. So, as cliche as it is, I assumed it was love. Because, in truth, I loved him. No one could replace that space in my heart I left open for him.

. . .

We continued to kiss each other. At first, he kept a careful hand on my arm. But soon, he slid it up to the back of my neck. Damn, he was good. I gently put my hands in his blonde locks and ultimately pulled him closer. I slid my tongue in his mouth, swirled around his tongue with mine. His mouth tasted of wine and cheese, in delicate proportions. His breathing became uneven and he rubbed his way down to my thigh.

It made me moan a tiny bit when he started rubbing my thigh up and down. He pulls away from the kiss and quickly throws one leg to the other side of me. Francis smirks a little before kissing me again. God, this was sexy as hell. I moved my hands to his shoulders and then started rubbing his chest. I began to undo unbutton his white with one hand while I caress his chest with the other. I finally get the damned shirt unbuttoned, and my stomach churns when I feel his bare chest, the burns, the scars. It captivated me in a sense of remorse and terror. "Why? Why would they do this to you?" I questioned in my mind.

Francis stopped kissing me for a moment, and looked at me in the eyes. This moment had no place for words, so this is how we spoke. With the deep blue eyes, he said, "That is behind me, dear. Do not concern yourself with the past. We live this now. You are here. You are my now." And with that, he kissed me again. Soft, as if I would break, but passionate enough to show the lust we had for each other.

Soon enough, we both have a pile of our shirts in a pile next to the bed on the floor. Every touch feels like lightening. Francis has gone from my lips to my neck, teasingly playing with my buckle on my belt with his hand. What clothes I have left on feel like a prison. I rub his lower back. I growl lightly as he kisses my neck, sucking slightly between kisses.

He finally snaps off the buckle on my belt, slowly pulling it off and dropping it in the pile. He makes a kiss trail from my jaw to my lips. They are soft and wet from sucking on my neck, cool on me as rain. I bite back a gasp when tugs teasingly at my pants. This only makes him smirk more. He slightly pulls down hard, exposing the top of my hip bone. I blush harder than before, trying to cover my face with my hands. He smiles a little and takes my wrists and holds them above my head with one hand and slides off my pants with the other.

I was ready. I was more than ready. I practically kicked my pants the rest of the way off, making them fall to the floor. But it wasn't sexual arousal that made me sure. It wasn't the fact we were already half naked. It wasn't even because I had a little whiskey before I left for the park. It was the simple fact that I wanted him close. I wanted to be with him even if it killed me.

I smiled gently at him when Francis looked at me confused. He wasn't used to me being so driven for this. I kissed him tenderly. He blushed and continued to explore me with his hands.

He had let loose of my wrists. The first thing I did was put my hands through his hair. God, I wanted to feel him so bad. His hair was amazingly soft but still would tangle around my fingers. I moved my hands to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with a gentle pull, his skin soft under my touch. I move one hand to his side, tugging at the edge of his pants. And I progressed to pull them all the way off, throwing him in the pile of clothes.

My breathing became uneven when I realized that we were only a few fabrics away from him having me. I could feel the burn of the heat that my was flushed uncontrollably. He toyed with the waistband of my boxers before smirking and pull them down. He teasingly rubbed my hip with one hand while he took off his own boxers with the other.

I gasped, almost moaned, when our bare bodies touched. His skin buzzed against mine. He looked at me in the eyes for approval. I couldn't grasp words, so I only nodded and gripped the sheets.

And with that, he began to thrust into me. I moaned quietly to the pace of his thrusts. I heard him gasps and grunt a few times. He kissed me hard to quiet me for a moment, so not to disturb the neighbors. I winced through the wet, sloppy kiss. He began to quicken his pace.

"S-say my name," he breathed in my ear. He kissed and nipped at my ear. "Francis.." I moaned quietly.

"Louder."

I groaned as he pushed deeper into me. "Francis!" I yelled. My voice cracked. It was weak. This made him smirk against my skin. "I can't hear you, _mon cher."  
_  
"Francis!" I yelled stronger and more passionate. He picked up the pace and went faster. Each thrust felt like lightening. I moaned loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Our skin buzzed against each other. Lips touched in wet, hard kisses. This was our little piece of heaven on earth.

. . .

After an hour of this, we slowed down, shaking and panting, still kissing each other. Francis lied down next to me, turned over on his side so he could face me. "I-I think it's time we get some rest." I nodded. Surrendering to sleep sounded wonderful. I rolled over next to him, nuzzling my face into his neck. His cologne smelled of the earth, rain, and pine trees. I felt him rest his chin, before closing my eyes, letting the heavy dew of slumber splash over me. The night passed with flushed faces, passion, and most of all, utter and certain love.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

((A/N: Whew~! Chapter Six already! Thank you so much for continuing to read this crap, y'all are awesome! Please review and follow me if you like, but I don't tell you people what to do so... anyways, continue reading and enjoy! :D))

The morning light felt warm on my face as I opened my eyes. But I soon discovered that was not the only thing that was giving me warmth. I was turned toward Francis, whom was still sleeping next to me. His face was in his face and his mouth was slightly open while he slept. I felt his arms were still around me, holding me to him. Adorable.

I glanced my eyes down to his chest. The left side was red stained with crinkled holes of burned skin all the way up to his shoulder and down his side. My heart sunk deep in my soul, my lungs tighten and my stomach twisted sickening knots. It hurt to breathe for a moment.

The hateful bastards did THIS because of his sexuality? Because of how he loved? It was infuriating. Not just because I cared about Francis. Because it was unfair for anyone to be treated this way. I know I could've gotten worse. I don't know if they've done worse to anyone like Francis, but it was for sure that if they did, they were permanently damaged, or dead.

. . .

I know that they tried to kill him. That's what Antonio and Gilbert told me when I found out about his burn marks.

I was still recovering, and I walked in on Francis while he was dressing in the bathroom. I saw the burns and I screamed. I foolishly thought he did it just then. It took an hour for them to make calm me down. I never saw anything more terrifying, anything more upsetting. Anyway, after they calmed me down, Francis didn't want to tell the story, as he was still recovering from just the memory, so he left to his room.

Gilbert sighed. "The burns was just a physical scar they left on him. What they did to him mentally almost ruined his life forever as a person."

"For a long time, he flinched when someone touched him, like you," Antonio spoke, "But the effects were worse. Some caused him to scream and start shaking and vomit if the nausea got the best of him. Some days he would just lock himself in his room, not coming out for anything, not even food; he wouldn't even let anyone come in his room."

I was still a bit lost. I understood they did something to both physically, burning him as one, and mentally to him, but I regrettably wanted to know more. "W-what exactly did they.. do to him?" I asked quietly.

They looked at me, to each other, and back to me. Gilbert sighed heavily again, and Antonio shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Gilbert gave Antonio a look that asked him to tell him. Antonio cleared his throat, and spoke even quieter than usual, "They played with his body, sexually abusing him, whispering stuff to scare the shit out of him in his ear to mentally scar him, and one of them got a lighter, and let his clothes burn until they had enough of his screaming."

"No. No, no, no. Not Francis. Not smiling, caring Francis." I thought. But they did. The truth churned my stomach, made me cringe and tingled through my spine. Smiling, happy, popular Francis Bonnefoy made into a person of fragility and depression. All because of some wankers that couldn't keep their nose in their own damn business. "W-we saved him before he bled too badly," Gilbert spoke, "We could only cover him back up the best we could, and listen to him cry and scream, until the ambulance got to us. We asked the police, for the sake of Francis, to try to keep this confidential as possible, away from the media. Word did get around, but not as fast. We found other victims of course, took him to therapy. He got better, but it gets to him sometimes. He still doesn't want to talk about it much, but he's slowly accepting it's behind him, that he's gonna live a normal life. I think saving you helped."

I didn't realize saving someone could heal wounds until that. I never put much thought into something like that before. We were both in a fight to overcome our memories.

. . .

I opened my eyes from the flashback. Francis was staring right at me. He had been watching me think about the past, but not a creepy way. In the way that was understanding, observing what expressions I made, what emotions were visibly given. I softened my look by smiling warmly, "I honestly didn't expect you to stay, frog." Francis blushed and smiled a little before kissing me softly and slowly, taking as long as he before pulling away.

"I was going to ask you something," Francis whispered, "I-it's understandable if you don't want to, but I just thought I'd ask." I tilted my head a little. He sighed and grabbed my hands. "W-would you consider... about making this official? About.. being my boyfriend?"

I felt the worries of us roll off my back like water. All the uncertainty, all the tears, stolen kisses and hugs, fights over petty things, all of it led to this moment. "Yes, Francis. I will be your boyfriend."

I never saw Francis smile so much. He pulled me into a tight hug and would NOT stop kissing my face! But as happy as I was, I didn't care. I laughed. I smiled. Francis Bonnefoy was mine. And I was his.

After our little celebration of kisses and hugs in the bedroom, we got dressed. He quickly went over to his apartment next door and got some of his own clothes. He said he wanted to cook so I made the tea. It was about half way down brewing as I stood over the counter when I felt arms wrap around my waist. I turned around, a little surprise by the gesture.

Francis smiled. I loved it when he smiled. I chuckled and kissed him on the nose before I turned back around, Francis still holding me. I poured the hot tea into the mug, letting the aroma and warmth surround me. Francis guided my hands to pour him a cup, which only made me smile more. I turned to face him again and handed his tea. He took his mug gingerly, and kissed me quickly before taking a sip. I drank some of mine as well, before I was instructed to go sit down by a hand gesture Francis made towards the living room.

As I sat down I heard my phone buzz. I grabbed it. A message from.. Lovino Vargas? Sounded familiar.. Wait, the grumpy Italian that Antonio was chasing after in high-school! I read the text:

_Is Francis there?!_

Francis? What did he have to do with this? I typed back:

_Yeah, why?_

I waited. I looked toward Francis. Did he know Lovino? My phone buzzed and Lovino texted:

_Fuck, where do I begin? Antonio was walking to come pick me up for a some movie he wanted us to go to and he texted me saying he was gonna pick me up.. But that was two HOURS ago! And I just got a text a minute ago that gave me an address and the word "Help." from him! I need Francis and Gilbert to help me find him!_

"Francis!" I yelled, "Lovino says Antonio needs our help!"

Francis immediately took action. He took my phone quickly and texted furiously. He threw me a jacket and calmly demanded, "Get your defense knife and lets go." I did as I was told, following closely behind.

I had never seen him so angry and determined.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

((A/N: Sorry this is late, I had writer's block! But extra long chapter just for yooou~! Translation: mon cher amour = my dearest love))

It was hard for me to keep up with the storming Frenchman. Francis is slow when he's forced to do something if he doesn't want to do it, but Olympics had nothing on him when he was angry or upset. And just by the way he was running, he was scared and pissed beyond belief.

I'd only seen him once like this. It was when he was rushing to his house while carrying me to take care of me. Even though I knew I wasn't exactly light, he acted like I was a feather and was actually running.

It was because he cared for us as if we were helpless children. The care that he would show for someone if he believed the reason was justified.

When we reached Lovino's house, Lovino was just standing outside the doorway. His face was darkened by bitter cold, his face was streaked with tears and his eyes were blood-shot. "Where the hell were you bastards?!" his voice strained.

Gilbert only arrived seconds after that, panting and sweating. God, he looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked paler than he already was, due to his Albinism. He was much thinner than he used to be, more muscular, but that didn't change the fact he looked like he was about to fall over dead. "What the hell been going on?!" he yelled breathlessly, "All I get is a fucking text from Francis saying to meet up at Antonio's and I don't get an explanation?!"

Ah. So that was what the frog used my phone for.

"Antonio's fucking missing, you arrogant bastard!" Lovino stressed, "He's fucking gone and the only thing I could think to do was call you assholes for help, okay?!" Lovino started tearing up again and looked away.

Francis only swallowed and asked, "What was the address?" Lovino reluctantly showed him the text with the address and was shaking. Francis looked at the phone and nodded. "Arthur, stay here with Lovino until we get back," he sighed, "We're going to see what the hell he is doing there." I wanted to protest. But I didn't have to...

"Like hell I'm going to just stay here with this bastard!" he pointed to me, "I'm coming along whether you like it or not!"

"Fine!" Gilbert yelled, "Come along with us! The longer we argue, the less of a chance we have of saving his ass!"

. . .

And we followed Francis and ran. We ran, non-stop. All we could do was hope we could be fast enough. We ran for thirty minutes before arriving to the address, all panting and gasping for breath.

It was a dead-end alley.

We all exchanged looks of confusion. We were sure that he'd be here. "Damn it!" Lovino cried. Gilbert placed a hand on Lovino's shoulder, as if to comfort him, only to be swatted away, "Get away! He's gone! He's fucking gone and there's not a damn thing we can do about!"

"Something's off," Francis muttered, "He should have been here. You don't just give an address and the word 'help' and not turn up."

"Maybe someone dragged him off somewhere else.." Gilbert mumbled.

Francis was right. Someone doesn't just disappear off the face of the earth. I felt tension prickle at my spine, and I felt too close to the shadows.

It wasn't until I yelped and fell to the ground when gun-shot fired that we realized we were being ambushed.

"Arthur!" Francis screamed and rushed to my side. My arm had been shot. It was numb at first. It took a minute a minute to realize I was the one who got shot. And then it burned. It burned so much. It set the skin around my arm aflame. I felt hot tears escape my eyes. "Oh, my god. I'm so sorry, Arthur," Francis mumbled as he protectively guarded over my body.

But I wasn't the least damned worried when I saw Antonio step from the shadows. He had cuts and bruises all over him. He had been crying. He was smothered in filth. His dark skin was pale, almost to a point he looked like the walking dead. He couldn't stand without shaking. And most of all, he looked absolutely bloody terrified.

Lovino almost ran to him and hugged him, if it weren't for a clicking of a gun. A man stepped from behind, holding the gun against Antonio's head, causing Antonio to whimper a little.

I didn't know him, but I knew his eyes. Those hazel eyes. All those years ago, when the man that had grabbed me. Harassed me. Possibly could've killed me. The man that could've very bloody well attacked Francis.

He was much more real this time. The man was pale as snow. He had black that blended in well with shadows. A scar ran from his left cheekbone to the bottom of his chin. "Fancy seeing you here, Francis."

He knew Francis? I looked to him. His face wasn't pale, but it lost its color.. it lost its life. Francis gritted his teeth. "Let him go."

The man smirked. Of all things, he smirked. And it was terrifying. "But why?" he petted Antonio's hair with his free hand, "He's so cute, and he's got a lovely voice when he screams." Antonio held back his whimpers, but it was obvious he wanted nothing more than to scream. The vulgar criminal's fingers danced down Antonio's torso down to the waistband of his jeans, teasingly toying with the button on his pants. "And he has a such nice body," he looked to Lovino, "I can see why you chose him. But, as of right now, he's mine. Sorry, but he really is too good to be yours."

Lovino was frozen in place. He was clenching his fists so hard, his knuckles began to turn white. He was going to kill him if the man so much as formed another syllable with his lips.

"Please," Antonio spoke softly to Lovino, trying to mask the fear, "Go. I'll be fine."

Lovino only got angrier. "Let Antonio go, you piece of fuck." The man smiled. After a moment, he pulled the gun away and shoved Antonio towards Lovino. All was right in the world for one split moment.

Then, there was gunfire. I couldn't help but scream when I felt a familiar, sharp, burning pain in my stomach. My world began to fade as a mass of incoherent cries and shrieks, and all I saw was black.

. . .

When I woke, everything was like a mass blizzard blowing before my eyes. I knew I wasn't home, but I couldn't quite remember why. I couldn't move. I almost didn't want to move. So I closed my eyes back.

Sounds were agony. Every beep. Every foot-step. Anything and everything that was noise was like claws scratching against a chalk board. If it weren't for the fact I didn't hardly have any energy, I would've cried. But crying sure as hell wasn't going to make me feel better.

And then I remembered Antonio, and it was like an ocean of memories crashed over me before I blacked out. I opened my eyes and looked down.

Sure enough, I had gauze wrapped my lower torso and on my arm. I didn't dare move anything except my head, because I knew if I did, it would hurt.

A nurse walked in and gave a polite, gentle smile. "How are you feeling, sir?" she asked sweetly. Too sweetly.

"Bloody awful," I replied bitterly. As harsh as I might've sound, it was the truth! You can't just ask a man that as been shot- twice, no less- and expect him to be just absolutely bloody wonderful. But still, her smile didn't falter. And the way she smiled.. it was almost as if it was meant to be seductive. "Could I do anything to help you?" she leaned in, "You look like you could use a good relaxer."

It was then I realized the nurse had no name-tag, and within seconds she didn't have anything on at all. I covered my eyes. "What the bloody fuck do you think you're doing, cunt?!"

Suddenly, my wrists were grabbed and she placed it firmly on one of each of her breasts, "Don't act like you don't want me, baby."

"I'm not acting!" I pushed myself away from her, "If you don't get away from me within five seconds, I swear to God I'll-"

And we were stopped by the opening of the door. Someone had kicked it down. Gilbert and Francis stood at the doorway, stunned by the naked prostitute hovering over me. She very casually slipped her nurse outfit back on, and blew a kiss at me before she left. "Good timing!" I finally sighed, and sunk back into my normal position.

"I-I'll give you two a moment to talk.. I'll go check up on Antonio." Gilbert patted Francis on the shoulder before leaving. Francis stepped closer and slapped me hard before kissing me, "Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again, mon cher amour! I love you."

I was aching. I was aching all over but nothing could add up to the ache I felt in my heart when Francis said those words. I realized I could've very well died. I realized I could've left Francis and all those who cared about me in this world. But I stayed alive, and I couldn't of been more grateful.

"I love you too, Francis," I cried into his shoulder, "I love you so much."

. . .

After a few hours, I began walking around. I was still sore, but well enough to go see Antonio in the room a few doors away from mine. Francis helped me as trudged to Antonio's room.

I glanced at Gilbert. He was standing next to Antonio. His face was stricken with worry. Then, I looked over at the Spaniard. Antonio looked better than what he was in the alley. The color had returned to his skin and he had been cleaned and bandaged up. But, my god, he looked horribly fatigued. His eyes were bloodshot and had deep dark circles around them.

"H-hey, Francis.." he said weakly, still trying to smile, "And Arthur.. How are my amigos, hm?"

"No," I said softly, "we should be asking how you are, Antonio."

"I'll be honest, I've felt better."

"You've looked better, Toni," Gilbert admitted, "You still look awesome, but not as awesome as you did." Antonio only smiled. Sweet, happy Antonio was probably in a world of pain, but he managed to smile. To laugh. To damn well at least act happy. "My friends, I'll be fine," he chuckled, "Just some cuts and bruises."

"You know we're a phone away if you need anything," Francis winced, "And Arthur's next door if you want someone to talk to."

"Really, you worry too much. You've been here all day. You need rest. Go home and get some sleep. I'll be fine."

We all sighed. He had a point. We said our goodbyes and Francis silently lead me back to my room. And then, I peculiar question came across my mind.

"How did that man know you, Francis?"

Francis looked at me puzzled. Not because he didn't understand the question, but because he didn't understand why I was asking it. As soon as I laid back down in the hospital bed, he relaxed his expression and sighed, "This will be a long story." I nodded. I had all the time in the world.

"Well," Francis started, "we were friends in middle school. The best of friends, actually. But as we got into high-school, we began to discover our other feelings. I was pretty sure I was pansexual, but he was a bit more.. confused, to say the least. He finally admitted he loved me and kissed me at the end of freshman year. But I.. I refused his feelings. I loved him, sure, but it was hard for me to love him like that. When I tried to explain that I didn't love him that way, he accused me of being 'a heartless bastard' and that I was the one that fucked up his sexuality.

"Somewhere along the line, he began to hate anyone who wasn't straight, despite himself. He created a group of cruel and angry bigots, later making them more physically violent. At first, he made small, amateur attacks, usually a egging of a house or just bullying a gay kid by knocking their books down. Petty attacks no one paid attention to. But he became more violent as the number in his group grew. That's when they started making the lists. And I was their first.

"I got his damned pay back. All I could do was sit there and take the pain, because no matter how bad it was, I deserved it. I started what would never have been if I had just accepted his feelings. I started this painful war that has put everyone, including my friends and family, in very real danger."

"Francis, don't be ridiculous. It wasn't your fault. He just got his bloody underwear in a twist. He shouldn't have overreacted. Besides, even if you did accept his feelings, what if you two got in a fight? What if you tried to leave him? Believe me, I can think of a thousand ways it could've gone worse from what it is now. So don't blame yourself."

Francis nodded. It was hard to tell if he was depressed or just tired. But he didn't speak, just stood there, as if to take in what I said. After a few moments, he snapped out of his daze and kissed me gently. "I'll be back tomorrow," he breathed, "I love you."

And he left. Before I could say "I love you" back, he left with tears in his eyes. He needed to rest, to not dwell on his past. I closed my eyes, realizing that I, too, needed to give in to rest.


End file.
